In dark alleys. Under your eyes. Behind you in the glare of spotlight. Inside you, leaking out from your soul and coating you all over, smearing your vision, taste, hearing and smell. Like yet another caul you struggle to break out from. The raven black of your beautiful hair, and the pinpoint black of your dilate pupils, ringed with the red of your bloodshot eyes. The shadows, they enclose all of you in its embrace, a slick, icky film. Thin as paper, light as air, weighing down on you like a hundred pounds. The noose tightens. You choke, and struggle to breathe. Onlookers see you struggle and fight thin air, and offer you a paper bag. But they do not understand. No one does. You can breathe, but something’s in the way. Your body can’t draw air through the thickness of the shadows, but you can breathe perfectly fine. ‘Lift it off of me, and I will be perfectly fine again.’ Like a shiny new maserati sitting under a dusty cover in a dingy garage. You are bright, a gleaming, brilliant star, waiting to be set free as you sink in the darkness trapped in the viscosity of night.